


Comfort

by WhumpTown



Series: Hurting Hotch [1]
Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Concussions, Gunshot Wounds, Hospitals, Hurt Aaron Hotchner, Hurt/Comfort, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:19:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23456914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhumpTown/pseuds/WhumpTown
Summary: 6 separate situations in which a member of the team takes care of Hotch (because he needs a HUG AND SOME COMFORT)
Relationships: Aaron Hotchner & David Rossi, Aaron Hotchner & Emily Prentiss, Aaron Hotchner & Jennifer "JJ" Jareau, Aaron Hotchner & Spencer Reid, Aaron Hotchner & The BAU Team, Derek Morgan & Aaron Hotchner, Penelope Garcia & Aaron Hotchner
Series: Hurting Hotch [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1755046
Comments: 7
Kudos: 167





	Comfort

**Author's Note:**

> This quarantine has me doing some questionable things, this just happens to be one of many of the things

1.

“Spencer.”

Reid jerks at the sudden intrusion, his brain struggling to pull itself from the novel in his lap. “Haley,” his eyebrows pinch in confusion before he looks down at his wristwatch and red letters flashback at him the time; 7:15. He’s been here for five hours. “I-I…”

She smiles softly, he recognizes the look from earlier. Hotch had given him the same sad-eyed smile as Reid failed to keep the pressure on his wound. Reid had never seen an example of couples adopting one another characteristics before. He finds it to be both unnerving and amazing. 

“Lost in your head,” she asks, coming further into the room. She glances at him once more before going to Hotch’s side. She slides her hand under her husband’s, whispering something too soft for Reid to hear and presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “He says you have a-a tendency to get lost in your head.”

Reid is silent. He’s been to their house a few times. Only after Gideon dumps whatever plans they made, it seemed he’d get off the phone with the older man and within the hour Hotch would call. He’d some odd knickknack for Reid to see or a StarTrek marathon to offer. 

Haley runs her fingers through Hotch’s hair, unsettling it from the hold the gel Hotch had put it in that morning. “It’s good you’re here,” she says, looking up at him instead of Hotch. Haley’s an intelligent woman, keeps Hotch on his toes. Reid holds a soft spot for her, she makes him feel warm and safe. The same way Hotch does. 

A soft grunt sounds from the bed between them, Hotch shaking his head loose of the oxygen canal. His head is turned, his eyes open and all he sees is Haley. “... tried-” he shifts on the bed, pain shooting up his middle as the movement pulls sore muscles. “Sean?” He croaks the name out, lost in times that passed long ago.

Haley glances up at Reid once before centering her focus on her husband. She soothes him softly, shushing him when he tries to pull away from the IV in his arm and the sheets over his hips. “Aaron-Aaron,” she brushes a hand through his hair, smiling when his attention shifts back to her owlish blink. “Hey,” she brushes her thumb across his cheek. “Sean is safe. He’s in New York, remember? Gonna be a chef.”

Hotch swallows thickly, brain turning this information over slowly. “Not-Not a lawyer,” he recalls.

Haley smiles with a shake of her head, “no. Not a lawyer.” She moves over him and positions the oxygen canal back under his nose. “You’re safe too, Aaron.” Her smile fades back into that sad-eyed, soft smile from earlier. “Agent Reid is with you,” she says motioning her head to Reid. 

Reid can see the confusion in Hotch’s brow but he turns his head and settles his eyes on Reid. There’s no scrutiny. If Reid didn’t know better he might say fondness is the crinkle in his supervisor’s eyes. 

“Your team is okay,” Haley adds squeezing his hand. “Everyone’s okay.”

Concussion. Reid’s mind helpfully deduces. They hadn’t done a brain scan when Hotch was admitted. There was no real reason to suspect brain trauma with a bullet to the abdomen. Not when Reid hadn’t told them about the crack that sounded through the room when Hotch hit the floor. 

The concussion is to blame for Hotch’s sluggish thoughts and obvious confusion. “Dad?” Reid’s never heard Hotch’s voice raise to an octave like that, an inflection of fear. Haley’s eyebrows tighten, clearly aggravated but not at Hotch or his confusion.

“No,” Haley says forcing herself to relax. “He’s dead, Aaron.”

Reid’s never seen so many emotions cross his boss’s face at once. Relief immediately followed by sadness and the clench of his fist that Reid loses the meaning to because he can’t tell if he’s reacting to physical or emotional pain or maybe he’s angry. 

“Dead,” he echoes. His brow scrunches in confusion and Reid can see the realization cross his eyes. The ‘dead’ sinking in. “Oh.”

Haley tries to direct his attention back to Reid. “Don’t worry with him, Aaron. Spencer’s here,” she nods her head again but it’s becoming very clear that Hotch is fighting a losing battle against the narcotics streaming in his veins. 

“Mm,” Hotch turns his head to Reid. He smiles and lifts his hand from the bed, a tired wave. 

Haley brushes a hand through his hair again, catching his attention. “Get some sleep,” she doesn’t move away. Instead, her hand continues to work through his hair, slowly easing him lower and lower into sleep. “Shh.”

Reid can’t see Hotch’s eyes flutter shut but he can see the last deep breath he takes before they even out. 

“I’m glad you’re here,” Haley says, settling into the visitor’s chair on Hotch’s left. “He worries about the team when he’s away from you.” She says this without looking at him. Her attention is on Hotch’s face, half-turned to look at her. “He worries about you the most.” Her eyes rise to his and she shakes her head with a sigh. “He’s always worried about something or someone.”

He’s a protector. They’re not supposed to profile one another, it’s a rule between them all, but it doesn’t take a profile to note that Hotch is a protector. It’s what he does. “It’s what makes him so good at his job,” Reid looks up, forcing a smile on his lips. “He’s a good boss.” 

Haley chuckles, a soft sound and a puff of air from her nose. She sighs, thumb rubbing against the back of Hotch’s palm. She doesn’t say anything. Exhausted, her shoulders are hanging low and for the first time, Reid sees just how tired she is. 

2.

“Hey…” Emily puts her novel down. Hotch’s vision is foggy but he catches the horrendous orange and blue blur as she forces the book shut. His mouth feels thick, heavy and his head like tiny dancers balanced on thumbtacks are tap-dancing across his brain. “I didn’t expect you to be up.” Her eyebrows pinch, “doctors said they have you on some powerful stuff.”

He rolls this information over in his head, her voice drowning in and out with his heartbeats. He can feel it, his heart, beating through with the pain in his side. “Vonnegut.” He’s a favorite of Emily’s, he can faintly recall a conversation she’s had with Morgan about him. “It’s-It’s…” he’s read a few of Kurt Vonnegut’s works. 

Emily takes a moment to understand his slurred speech. She holds the book up with a smile, “yeah. Kurt Vonnegut.” She thumbs through the pages, confused. “How-How did you know that?” 

The title is revealed as she leafs through it. He places it then, a burden lifted from his chest. _Breakfast of Champions_. Kilgore Trout and his journey through the midwest as his fiction becomes another man’s facts. That’s not her favorite though and that copy, it’s new. It’s the same copy that sits on his bookshelf. “Vonnegut,” Hotch mumbles like she should have put this all together herself. “He’s your favorite,” his voice cracks through the sentence, hoarse rasp cutting off what remains of the sentence.

Emily understands well enough. “How-” she shakes her head at him. “I don’t want to know how you have managed to remember that.” She’s not that surprised. They live by the rule of not profiling one another but it’s hard to turn it off. 

_“ Sometimes, I get tired of being profiled through my office window.”_

“New,” he croaks, he points to the book now on her lap. He swallows thickly, brain forming the words but mouth unable to form the right ones. “You had an older copy.” 

Before. Emily taps the cover, he’s right. She carried one of his books everywhere, a comfort to curl up on the jet on the way home with some tea and a blanket. She knows the most of the books by heart, her old copy was dog eared and the cover faded. A small part of her felt comforted, now, just sitting here reading. 

Like old times on the jet.

“I lost it,” she answers truthfully. No real point in lying when he might be able to see it. If there’s one thing she knows about Hotch, it’s that you can never underestimate him. “I-I didn’t think to ask JJ to grab them from my apartment.” She shakes her head, “everything was so… It was all so crazy, it would almost be silly to worry about a couple of books in the face of everything going on.”

It takes a moment for him to place what she means but blood loss hasn’t made him stupid. He knows exactly what she means. She must see the clarity in his eyes, the moment he realizes what she means. She starts talking, nervous. Her hands come together and he’s listening to her nervous words but he’s focused on the way her thumb digs into her nails.

“I-I don’t blame you and JJ, you know?” She draws blood but she whips it away. She doesn’t raise her eyes to his. “That’s not important, though, the books or Doyle. You did what you had to do to protect me, I know that.” She moves to the next hand, digging. “It’s funny- well, I mean it’s not funny but you know humor overrides trauma- but the last time you and I were in the hospital-”

She looks up, eyes moving straight past him to the heart monitor. She glances back at him, eyebrows frowning. “Shit,” she stands up but before she can say anything there’s a nurse grabbing her shoulder. She’s pushed out, the heart monitor still sounding in the background. She’s forced to watch from the doorway as a doctor swarms in with the rest of the nurses. 

She’d been talking with Rossi earlier in the week, so he knew that she’d been sent back to the states. With her own case solved, she came to Virginia to meet them. To see them. She just hadn’t been expecting Rossi to text her the address of a hospital. 

“Agent.”

She turns to the doctor, tearing her eyes away from Hotch. He’s glaring at a nurse, watching her dispense a clear cocktail of drugs into his port. “Y-Yeah?” She crosses her arms over her chest. 

“He can’t be put under any strain,” the doctor’s voice is tight, making it very clear to Emily how important it is she listens. “Do you understand, Agent?” They stand, locked until Emily nods her head. It’s like Foyett, that fear and his vulnerability. That same warning, all over again. “Okay.” The doctor leaves her, small frown but no more words.

“Sorry.” His voice rasp behind an oxygen mask now. The straps pushing his peppered hair up in odd directions. His eyes are slits, his battle with sleep a losing one. 

Emily settles back into the chair, pulling her book into her lap. “You know, Hotch, next time you want me to shut up you can just ask.” She can see him smile under the mask, a rare sight. “No need to-to stop breathing or have a heart attack on me.” She thumbs the pages, the words feeling wrong. She didn’t come to taunt him. She misses being on the team. Hell, she even misses him profiling her profile him. Mind games. He’s the best. 

“Read.”

She’s so lost in her mind that she hadn’t realized she’d opened the book. She looks up, confused, “read? I thought you want me to stop talking?” 

He turns, paler than even his normal vampire tan, and shakes his head. “No,” he motions his head at the book, again. “Just read.” 

It’s all the _“I’ve missed you”_ she’ll ever get so she cracks the book open. It doesn’t matter where she left off because it doesn’t matter to him. “So, in the interests of survival, they trained themselves to be agreeing machines instead of thinking machines. All their minds had to do was to discover what other people were thinking, and then they thought that, too.” She looks up and his eyes have fallen shut, his breathing even and steady. She turns the page. He’s asleep but she continues anyway.

3.

“Woah-Woah!” Morgan’s ears are ringing, his head empty. He gags, falling over himself as he loses half the sandwich he had at lunch. He can’t move, frozen as his stomach cramps painfully. A hand, warm and solid lands on his back. After a moment, his eyes lock onto black dress pants and a blue dress shirt. “Hotch?”

The other man doesn’t react to the sound of his name. Instead, he pulls Morgan up. Hotch’s arm is looped under Morgan’s and they both groan as they stand back to their feet. Morgan, now eye level with Hotch, frowns, “Hotch, you’re bleeding.” He points to the wound but it’s like Hotch can’t hear him.

“We have to get out of here!” He’s speaking too loud, body trembling. Morgan moves as much as he can in Hotch’s grip and sees the side of his head. Two small streaks down to his collar, both starting in Hotch’s ear. Morgan doesn’t mention it but he suspects Hotch knows he’s caught it. “Come on.” Morgan frowns, Hotch’s eardrums really can’t handle being burst again.

They stumble. 

Hotch keeps Morgan up, his face unnaturally pale… even for him. “We can’t stop,” Hotch grunts, his own feet shuffling. He tries to take another step but he can’t. He falls to his left knee, releasing Morgan. “Go,” Hotch grunts, body curling in on his right side. “Go, Derek!”

Morgan isn’t a child and no matter how low Hotch drops his voice it doesn’t scare him. He drops to his own knees, exhaustion seeping into his bones. He moves, throwing his right hand out and leaning against the wall as he settles his back on it. “Come on, Hotch.” He waves the older man closer, patting the hard cement beside him. 

Hotch doesn’t move, now settled on his side. His eyes dropping, slowing losing consciousness. 

Morgan moves and bites down a whimper as it lights up his side. He pushes himself a little more. He grabs Hotch’s shoulder hooking his arms under Hotch’s and pulls them both against the wall. Sighing as he positions Hotch beside him, the other man’s head on his left thigh. 

“A fucking bomb,” Morgan mumbles. That’s how it’ll end. Some punk kid and a bomb with their names literally written on it. “This isn’t how I thought it would end.”

Hotch blinks, eyes slowly finding his. Morgan shakes his head, so the bastard isn’t as deaf as he thought. “Not surprised,” Hotch grunts, his left hand pulling away from his side sticky with blood. “Kind of figures,” he lets his hand fall back over the wound, fresh blood pouring over his knuckles. “Get stabbed nine times and some pipe bomb does me in.”

Morgan laughs, his head rolling back to the wall behind him. The mood turns bitter and Morgan can’t help but feel cheated. “Did the other’s get out?”

Hotch grunts, it’s as much of a yes as he can manage at the moment. “Dragged Reid and JJ out myself.” He’s trembling, shivering despite the sweat pouring down his brow. “Emily was going to come back in for you but I-I told her I’d get you.” He smiles, “two kids grabbed her when I turned to come back in. Morons. Garcia looked like she was going to pummel them both.”

They share a laugh at that. The poor kids are probably sporting bruised ribs by now. Almost everything she knows about self-defense Morgan taught her. He’s a dirty fighter and Hotch knows Morgan teaches dirty fighting. Garcia, though neither had ever personally been hit by the tech analyst, they’d seen a person or two get swatted with her purse. She’s got an arm on her.

“Rossi?”

Hotch’s smile falls off his face. Morgan looks away, afraid of the emotions he sees creeping over his boss’ face. His voice isn’t as steady. It’s heavy with fear,” I don’t know.” Silence fills the clouded air between them. Both considering the fate of their friend. “Derek?”

Morgan looks down, Hotch’s head bent away from him. He’s blinking slowly, face ashy. “Yeah, man?” A pang of fear rolls through his stomach, coiling tight in his chest. His heart hurts. They’re running out of time, Hotch is running out of time.

“I never thanked you…” his voice trails off, eyes fluttering as he fails to keep them open.

Morgan swats at his face, keeping it up until Hotch blinks his eyes back open. “Never thanked me for what?”

Hotch swallows thickly around the dryness in his mouth. “After Foyett,” he rasps, “the hole in my wall. I know you fixed it.” He turns his head, blinking owlishly up at Morgan with half-open bloodshot eyes. 

Morgan nods. It was the hardest repair job he’s ever done and he wonders what it was like for Hotch to clean Elle’s blood off her wall. Morgan reaches down between them, grabbing Hotch’s hand with a tight squeeze. “That’s what families for.” He doesn’t let go, just lets his hand fall on Hotch’s chest as the other man fights consciousness. “They’ll find us. They always do.”

Hotch hums and Morgan doesn’t know if it’s in agreeance or in pain. It doesn’t matter. Morgan knows they’ll come. They have to.

4.

“You really shouldn’t fall asleep, sir.”

She watches him blink his eyes back open, a dark iris settling on her. She knows he’s not mad at her but his face is still twisted in aggravation. “Garcia,” he says, in a voice much lower than even his normal baritone. “Now is no time for formalities.” 

His eyes slide back shut. She glances back at him and kicks his knee, grimacing when he startles. “I asked you not to fall asleep,” she reminds him when he looks less than pleased. He doesn’t shut his eyes though, he stays awake. “How are you, Hotch?” She’s genuinely interested. He doesn’t get to talk to her that much anymore, she feels like she hardly knows him these days. 

He leans his head back against the wall, eyes open but unfocused. He’s not sure how he is. His heart hurts. “I’m fine, Penelope.” His dark eyes find hers, half-hidden as his eyes blink drowsily. He catches the hint when she frowns tightly and she’s surprised by the little smile on his lips. “I really am fine. Beside this headache, of course.” 

She tries not to dwell on how bad the headache must be if he’s admitting to it. Instead, she soaks in the warmth of his little grin. “Well,” she’s much gentler when she knocks her foot against his knee this time. “Tell me how ‘fine’ is treating you. I feel like you never talk to me anymore.”

She’s keeping him talking. She can see the gash across his temple and she’d been forced to watch as their UNSUB brought his gun across Hotch’s head. Leaving only her to witness the way her boss’ legs crumbled beneath him, limply his body hitting the ground beneath him. He’d been so limp as the UNSUB picked him up under his arms, dragging him to a side room. 

His grin falters just a little at her wording and he supposes that maybe he hasn’t been talking to her as much as he thought he was. Then again, how does short phone calls about serial killers count as talking? “Jack’s growing up so fast,” he tells her, his grin a soft mix of sadness and pride. “He’s almost as tall as me, isn’t that crazy?”

She smiles, “it feels like yesterday you were pushing through the bullpen in his little stroller.” 

Hotch shakes his head, “starts high school this year and… I’m terrified.” He leans his head to the side, against the wall. “He’s so grown up. I feel like he doesn’t need me anymore and then-” he’s full-blown smiling and Garcia finds is contagious. “Then he comes into my room or he strikes up a pointless conversation and I know all he wants is for me to be there. To ask about his classes and listen to him gush about the girl in his English class. He still wants me around after…”

Garcia can sense the switch and she reaches over, taking his hand. “Hotch…”

He shakes his head, wincing at the movement. He puts a hand up, touching at the edges of the wound. “I killed his mother, Garcia.” His voice is devoid of all the joy it just held and she blames it on the concussion. She wants this to be the concussion and not how he actually thinks. “I would understand if…” he winces again, this time fingers probing a little too hard and he draws blood. 

He swallows thickly, face paling considerably. “Penelope, you’ll have to excuse-” he’s half up-right, leaning with his side on the wall as he vomits. He brings almost nothing up, just gagging miserably. 

Garcia turns her head, rolling her eyes. JJ always taunts Hotch, behind his back of course, for his ‘southern manners’. She’d seen it for herself a few times but this certainly takes the cake. However, she’ll never betray his confidence to tell the others about Hotch trying to excuse himself with a bad concussion to puke in privacy while being held captive by a killer. 

“You okay, boss man?” She only looks back at him when the gagging stops and she can hear him position himself back against the wall. He’s still pale, shaking from the strain of holding himself above his vomit. 

His eyes are closed but she can see he’s not sleeping. Just trying to calm back down. “Probably should have eaten lunch,” he replies softly, right arm protectively draped over his stomach. She would be mad if she expected anything different from him. It’s just like Hotch to bring the others sandwiches or coffee and to send them home to sleep but to starve and deprive himself of sleep at the same time. 

She hums in agreeance. “You should start eating more period.” That catches his attention. He peels an eye open, frowning at her. “Oh, don’t give me that look. I see it all. I know everything.” She points to his chest, “I’ve noticed your shirts don’t fit you like they used to and when they did fit you, you didn’t have weight to afford losing more.” She raises an eyebrow, daring him to challenge her. “You’re going to put the weight back on, sir. Even if I have to start hand-delivering you breakfast and lunch.”

He opens his mouth but she raises her hand. “Nothing you say can change my mind. In fact, I think I will.” She bites her lip, “let’s see… JJ and Reid. Yeah, they’re your soft spots. The chinks in your unchinkable armor. You won’t be able to tell them you’re starving yourself.”

He sighs, head still tilted back but resigned to his fate. “Penelope?” His voice is soft, devoid of fight and, dare she say, tinged with fatigue. “Thank you.”

She smiles at him and stands, moving over until she’s sitting beside him. She pulls his hand into her lap, squeezing it. “Anything for you, my liege.” Because someone has to protect the man who protects everyone else. He’s hurting and someone needs to be there.

And when his head falls on her shoulder she doesn’t say anything. 

5\. 

“For once in your life-” Rossi is so close to just decking his former protégé in the face and letting Derek haul his body up on the couch. “Goddamn it, Aaron!” Then, at least, Hotch can’t sneak away and refuse to sleep or take care of himself. 

Hotch flinches, fever-ridden bloodshot eyes looking at Rossi in confusion. Carefully masked fear trembles down his hands and Rossi doesn’t dare try to act like he doesn’t see it. Right, he’s not being helpful if he’s being an ass. He takes a deep breath, forcing himself to calm back down.

Rossi knows Hotch doesn't respond to over-controlling authority. He was abused by his father, Rossi knows that. Hell, Hotch has never once admitted to it, but they all know it. 

Rossi runs a hand down his goatee, tired of fighting the stubborn unit chief. “Here,” he hands Hotch a palmful of pills. There’s a vitamin C from Emily, a Tylenol from JJ, and some colored flu medicine from Derek. It wasn’t hard to convince them to fork over their supplies. Hotch had emerged once from his office all day and the man looked like a walking corpse. 

With JJ fielding Hotch’s calls, Rossi forging his signature on a few things, and Garcia clearing his meeting with Strauss in an hour they can afford to let him take a well-deserved rest. 

“I have paperwork,” he rasps but knocks the handful of medication back into his mouth. He’s smart, he can argue his way out of the nap he’s cornered into but it’s pointless to push Rossi on taking medicine. 

Rossi rolls his eyes, “lay down, Aaron.” 

He hesitates. Rossi watches Hotch’s inner debate with himself. He frowns, looking away to the couch before nodding. Giving in. Rossi sighs in relief, he thought that was going to be much harder but maybe Hotch going down without a fight is more a bad thing than good. 

“Is something-” for once in his life, Rossi isn’t sure what to say. He swallows thickly and shakes the thought away. “Here,” Rossi takes a step back, moving to grab the blanket sent up by Garcia. It looks well-loved and it’s soft in his hands, heavily scented with fabric softener. He lays it over his protégé with a small sigh. What he wouldn’t give to go back in time. He should have never left the BAU.

He shouldn’t have left Aaron.

“Get some sleep, kid.” He cuts the lights off to the office, standing in the doorway a moment too long. 

“Dave?” Rossi hums, eyes still on Hotch. The other man’s on his side, blanket pulled to his chin. His voice is nasally, finally giving in to his symptoms instead of trying to pull off his stoic baritone grumble. “Whatever you’re thinking,” he pauses, gathering the right words. “There’s no need to punish yourself.”

Rossi rolls his eyes and opens the door, stepping out. “That’s very thoughtful, Aaron, but we’re not supposed to profile one another.” He pats the doorway, fondly rolling his eyes. “Get some sleep mio figlio.”

Hotch chuckles, “I know what that means, Dave.”

Rather than let himself dwell in being caught, he laughs himself. “Yeah,” he shrugs. “I would certainly hope, Aaron. I told Jason you were a smart boy, quick. I would hope age hadn’t stolen that from you.” He lingers again.

“Dave, I’m fine. Really.” His voice softens, “go.”

Rossi puts a hand up in submission, “alright. Alright.” 

As soon as Rossi shuts the door he knows all their eyes are on him. Garcia’s the first to gather the courage to ask, “how is he?”

Rossi’s smile is soft but happy. He shakes his head, rolling his eyes for the pure drama that is dealing with Aaron Hotchner. “He’s getting some much needed rest. He should be fine.” He chuckles to himself, “he’s just a bit stupid. Too hard headed for his own good.” Rossi steps towards his own office, glancing through the window. Aaron’s already asleep. One hand dangles off the couch, a foot on the floor as the other stretches over the edge of the couch. 

He’ll be fine.

6\. 

“Hold still.” Stupid. For such a smart woman, well rounded, and agile she could be so stupid. She knew what she wanted to do. Liaison. She loves talking with people, offering comfort, and engaging the public. Sure, she didn’t give that job up but she’d give anything to go back to the station. “Hotch, please!” 

He’s bleeding all over the two of them. His exhales wet as blood trails out of the side of his mouth. A muffled cough that he attempts to spare her as he rolls onto his side but he’s out of his mind in pain and can’t muffle both the cough and strangled cry on his lips that the movement causes. 

If JJ had stayed a liaison, she wouldn’t be looking her friend in the eyes as his blood pools wider around them. “Aaron,” her voice is the only soft thing to happen to the room. From the moment Hotch’s knuckles rapped on the door to her screaming, mixing in the living with the sound of guns firing. “Aaron, please don’t do this to me.”

He blinks up at her, cheeks ashy and lips paling. He gasps, voice trembling, “it’s okay- I’m fine.” His left hand moves atop hers, larger than both of the ones she’s pressing into his side. “If you just…” he blinks sluggishly, too much blood around them and not in him. “Just keep applying pressure even if I- even if I pass out.”

JJ shakes her head, “you’re not passing out!” She pats his cheek, blood smearing on his ashy face. There are two days worth of hair on his cheeks and the bags under his eyes so much more prominent. “Talk to me, please?” Dark eyes blink back slowly, his adam's apple bobbing as his mouth opens but no words leave his mouth. “Tell me something. Keep talking because I can’t lose you.” Her voice thickens with unshed tears, “you’re my friend, Aaron.”

His eyes sink back shut but he opens with the first tap of her hand against his cheek. He draws his knee up, body wanting to writhe away from the pressure on his abdomen. He can’t keep his knee drawn up and it limpley slides back down. “Do you-” his voice is thick, sluggish as it leaves his mouth. “How do you not hate me?” He swallows, mouth impossibly dry, “you didn’t need to know about Emily.”

He’s right. Alone he could have faked Emily’s death. He could have bore that cross and she would have been spared the guilt of being amongst the knowing. She wouldn’t have had to work to be friends with Spencer again. 

She shakes her head, “you do make me mad, you know that right?” She wipes a hot tear away from her eye, “but I’m glad you told me. It would have destroyed you, it almost destroyed the two of us with each other to lean on.” She looks up, certain she can hear faint sirens coming. She smiles down at him, “we’re like… Sonny and Cher. Batman and Robin. We’re a team and I would hope there is never a time when you spare me, Aaron.”

He smiles but whatever he opens his mouth to say is lost in his weak coughing. 

She looks up, this time certain she hears sirens and doors being shut.

“Hold on, Hotch. Helps here.”

He grins, pale and sweaty. He squeezes her hand, “hey, JJ?”

She squeezes his hand back, “yeah?”

“Am I Batman or Robin?” 

She sees an unbelievable amount of mirth in his half-open brown eyes. He’s exhausted, tired of fighting and weak from bloodless but he’s smiling up at her. Holding on, for her. She smiles back, gently she leans over him and kisses his cheek. “I’ll let you be Batman.”

The room is flooded in loud noise. Heavy boots stomping right up to them. In the commission she nearly doesn’t hear his whispered remark. As a paramedic hangs a bag of saline above his head and another takes JJ’s place he calls her name. 

“I’d be Robin for you.” He blinks much slower, eyes hardly coming back open. “ ‘think you’d look better with a cowl. I could pull off a domino mask.” His eyes fall shut, a lopsided grin on his face. She brushes his bangs from his sweaty forehead, watching the medics do their job. She’ll remind him of this later and she’ll bring up his guilt over Emily. 

But for now she just holds his hand.


End file.
